


One Word Prompt Challenge

by standbygo



Series: NaNoWriMo 2013 One Word Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: Firefly, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:03:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbygo/pseuds/standbygo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was challenged to participate in NaNoWriMo in 2013, and decided to take one-word prompts to create vignettes. Here they are. Mostly Sherlock, some Firefly, may be others popping up as well. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Basking

Mal tried his best to stomp through the ship, but soon discovered that stomping does not have the same impact on a metal grate floor. Stomping works best on wood, or even dirt, but stomping on metal did not sound angry or authoritative or temperamental – it made him sound like a gorram robot.

What was more frustrating was that no one was witness to his stomping. 

He stomped as best as he could from the bridge to the bunks, giving a satisfying though unproductive yell into each one. Through to the mess (nothing), to the engine room (Serenity’s heart spinning lazily with no audience to applaud her), down to the common room (Mal now added cussing to the sound of his stomping, both sounds spinning into the hollow space) and conducted a brief tour of the cabins (empty, empty, empty, empty, aaaaaaand empty).

“Where in tarnation is my crew?” he muttered to himself.

As he entered the cargo bay, he saw light filtering in through the open air lock and celebrated his discovery with a tightened jaw. He stomped with greater relish to the door.

“I’d a mind to takin’ off at some point this year, but I’m finding it a mighty challenge with no gorram crew aboard,” he said tersely.

The gorram crew in question were spread around the ground just outside the ship, lying on blankets on the ground or draped across chairs, faces to a one tilted up at the sky.

“C’mon out, Captain,” Kaylee called, “it sure is gorgeous in the sunshine, in’it?”

“Not Sol,” River told her. “Not sunshine. This one’s Acamar, so properly it’s Acamar-shine.”

“Don’t matter, River, still nice.”

Mal crossed his arms, not pleased with the lack of reaction to his consternation. “Job’s finished. I was figurin’ on gettin’ on our way, maybe make some more coin elsewhere, and I am delayed due to lack of crew. Said crew settin’ on their behinds off the ship instead of on it. Lollygaggin’. Baskin’. _Bakin’_.”

“I had bacon once,” Wash said sleepily, pulling Zoe closer onto his chest. “It was nice.”

“Not-” Mal started, then thought better of entering into that discussion. “Point being, Serenity’s having a mighty difficult time making air with no crew. Now I must confess I haven’t the talent to fly her single handed but I’m getting tempted to learn.”

Mal felt a gentle hand on his elbow and turned to see Book, an infuriatingly patient smile on his face. 

“Let them set a spell longer, Captain,” Book said. “Gets hard for people, out in the black for so long, never getting the feel of natural warmth on their face, never seeing light that isn’t controlled by a switch or so far away it twinkles.”

Mal looked around at his crew again, mouth open to create more fuss. He saw Inara looking cool and elegant, fanning herself graciously and arching an eyebrow at him. He saw Wash and Zoe on a blanket, curling around each other, looking happy and content. Jayne was spread eagled flat in the dirt, snoring gently. Simon was crouched uncomfortably under a parasol attached to his chair, anxiously trying to keep every square inch of skin in the shade, while his sister sat in the sun building a labyrinth out of the pebbles on the ground.

But it was Kaylee that caught his eye and made him bite back his fuss. She was glowing slightly in the harsh light, a slight sheen of sweat across her lip, and a few freckles starting to form on the bridge of her nose. 

“I suppose we could set a spell,” he said, and was rewarded by Kaylee’s grin.

He walked off the ramp of the airlock onto the dusty, rocky ground. He looked back briefly at Book, who nodded sagely at him. 

Mal slowly, carefully, lowered himself to the ground and lay down on his back, resting his head on his palms and crossing his ankles. He breathed in deep and let it out, then again, and again.

He imagined he could _hear_ the light penetrating his skin.

“That’s enough,” he said, standing and brushing off his pants. “Dǒng ma?”

He strode into the ship, not waiting to hear the grumbling and curses behind him. 

***

“Course set, Wash?”

“Yes Cap’n,” Wash replied, looking out at the pinpricks of light in the black. “Should land us anywhere between four days and ten weeks.”

“Depending on?”

“Whether the engine works.”

“I’ll speak to Kaylee ‘bout that specifically,” Mal said. He looked oddly at Wash, who was sitting rigidly in his chair, careful to not allow any part of his back to touch the sheepskin cover. He noted the colour of Wash’s face, deep and red as if he were deeply embarrassed about something, but his voice was calm.

“Everything all right there?” he asked.

“Right as rain,” Wash said.

“Hmph,” Mal said. He straightened, and stretched. “All right, I’ll go speak with Kaylee now.” He clapped his hand on Wash’s back a couple of times. “Good work, Wash.”

Then he ducked, smiling, out of the bridge as Wash voiced a strangled scream of agony.

 

_End_

 

 


	2. Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hate puzzles.”
> 
> “No you don’t. You love them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Curmudgeonly", from my mom.

“Come on, Sherlock, help me.”

“Working, John.”

“Oh, don’t be a grump.”

“I hate puzzles.”

“No you don’t. You love them.”

“You do not have a corpse in the sitting room, I don’t think, nor a locked room, nor a serial killer, do you?”

“Not as such, but-” 

“ _That’s_ the kind of puzzle I like. What you have is a newspaper with little squares to be filled with words triggered by inane clues. Not interested.”

“Ah, but this clue will intrigue you.”

Sherlock willed himself patience. “What?”

“’A bored person.’”

A long pause.

“Twelve letters.”

Silence from the kitchen.

“Sixth letter is a D. If I get this word it will trigger the rest of the crossword.”

Nothing.

“Are you thinking?”

“Yes.”

“About the clue?”

“No.”

“Come on then, ‘A bored-‘”

“John, I have an arc welder here and I will not hesitate to use it on your paper, your pencil and the jumper your mother sent you at Christmas if you say one more word about your damned crossword.”

*

John woke the next morning, rolled over and felt the crunch of paper under his face. Blearily he sat up and looked at the neatly folded paper on his pillow, reading the loopy handwriting along the edge of the puzzle.

“Curmudgeonly.”

His brow furrowed. “That’s hardly a synonym for boredom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of a story about this one: I was challenging my eight year old daughter to expand her vocabulary, and asked her for a synonym for "bored", and she immediately said, "curmudgeonly". Yes, she's seen The Great Game, so I understand why she thinks it's a synonym!


End file.
